The Sweet Taste Of Nightlock
by MOLLY THE MONSTER
Summary: There were a number of ways I imagined my death occurring. Drowning like most of the tributes four years ago, being caught on my way to the Feast, or freezing to death. I never thought they would outsmart me. Foxface before her death.


The Sweet Taste of Nightlock

By Molly The Monster

_Setting: The 74th Annual Hunger Games  
>Day 15 of 17<em>

The fool doesn't even know I'm following him. They never know. It's how I've survived this entire nightmare. I'm quick, quiet and resourceful. And I know there's only three of them left. The "lovers" from District 12 and _him_. Someone killed the boy from 11. Or something. As I hid beneath the shelter of the trees, I saw 11's face in the sky signaling there were only three left. If I'm lucky _he_ will kill the "lovers" and then the Gamemakers will kill _him_. Or maybe the three of them will somehow kill each other.

Somehow that doesn't seem a possibility, but I don't think about it now. All I think about is ducking behind the trees as I watch Lover Boy gathering berries at a nearby plant. I concentrate on making my stomach not growl, but once again my body betrays me and I hear it rumble. But I'm not worried. Lover Boy is so clueless he wouldn't know I was behind him if I was screaming and dancing like a mad woman.

As I watch him push some of his wavy, ashy blond hair out of his face, I can't help but think that Lover Boy is definitely an appropriate name for him. But Lover Girl is the exact opposite of what the District 12 girl is. Since seeing her at the reaping, I've just referred to her as Poker Face. I gave all the tributes nicknames...I didn't want to know any of their names. It just seemed too personal and I didn't want to get personal with any of them.

Poker Face was just that. She always had her Poker Face on. She had no emotions as far as I could tell. While Lover Boy and some of the others smiled and talked, showed fear and sadness, she just had one face. Except for when she twirled around like an idiot for Caesar, she just had one face. Like she was afraid of giving something away between her and Lover Boy...

The star-crossed lovers from District 12. That's what they are. At least, that's what the idiots in the Capitol believe. If they had any brains beneath their fake pink hair and three inch gold eyelashes, they'd see lovers was not exactly the right word to describe them...

Love struck puppy and cold hearted bitch seem more appropriate. He was sincere when he confessed his feelings to Caesar, that much I knew. And I know it now as he picks the berries off the bush, one by one. He's head over heels for her while she's using him for sponsors. I can imagine them making out as the sun sets and the people in the Capitol just going gaga over it. It makes me sick to my stomach. The two of them have it easy while I've been struggling for food since someone destroyed the Careers stash near the Cornucopia.

I feel my stomach churn as I think about how it was probably Poker Face who blew up the food. She's a lot more clever than I had originally thought. It upsets me to realize that I owe a lot to Poker Face. Yes, I had been using the stash to feed myself, but once their stash was gone–when I saw it blow up–I couldn't help but laugh. A loud, joyous, _real_ laugh. I hadn't laughed once since I was called at the reaping. But after she did it, assuming it _was_ Poker Face, I finally considered myself a contender. I realized I had a chance at winning this thing after all.

My mouth waters as I watch him place the berries down. I'm hungry, I'm thirsty. Those berries look like Heaven. They won't be much to get me through a few more days, but I can feel a change in the weather. These Games are going to end soon. One way or another. And I intend to be the winner. I _have_ to be the winner. I _have _to go back. For Rosemera and Nicolai...my younger siblings _need _me.

As I watch Lover Boy leave the berries at the camp, I can't help but think of Garrett–to the kiss he _finally_ gave me before I left. I've dreamed of getting out of here alive every night and finally returning to his arms. "You're more clever than all of them put together," he had said, holding my face between his strong hands. "Outsmart them. I know you'll come back." Then he crushed my lips with his, startling me. For a moment, I was happier than I'd ever been, tasting his sweet lips against mine, even better than I had ever dreamed they would be. And before I knew it, the Peace Keepers were ripping him away from me and I was screaming after him at the top of my lungs, promising I would win.

I almost feel sorry for Lover Boy as I creep over to their camp. The berries are laid out there and my mouth actually waters as I look down at them. I think about taking all of them, but I can't let them know that I've been here. I grab a handful, glad for the sweet treat. Lover Boy is seemingly useless when it comes to food, but I have a good feeling Poker Face will be getting something better.

Berries in hand, I dash away quickly and quietly knowing Lover Boy will never even have any idea that I've been behind him. When I've reached a safe distance, I take a seat in the grass. I hold the berries up to my face, breathing in their sweet scent. I doubt they actually smell like anything, but as starved as I am, I've probably fabricated some sort of scent in my mind.

I've waited long enough. I pop a berry into my mouth, and it's by far the best thing I've ever tasted. I pop in another one and another one, chewing frantically. They taste like nothing I've ever tasted before. They're almost too good to be true.

It's then that I drop the berries to the ground, staring at them as if they're the most revolting thing I've ever seen in my entire life. I spit out what was in my mouth, but I know now that it's futile.

There were a number of ways I imagined my death occurring. Drowning like most of the tributes four years ago, being caught on my way to the Feast, or freezing to death. I dreamed all last night that _he_ would kill me. _He _would come back to finish the job _he _started. I'd gotten away when _he_ ran after _his_ little girlfriend, but _him _killing me was always a possibility. But I never thought that I would die this way.

I never thought they would outsmart me.

It feels as if my throat is closing. I gasp for air, but my lungs won't take in oxygen. My body tenses, as I struggle to hold myself up. I collapse in a heap on the group, gasping and gasping, feeling myself choke and knowing that I am not far from my death. I try to scream, but no sound comes out. I clutch my chest, crying for air, but nothing happens.

They were supposed to be tougher, stronger, more ruthless, more brutal. But they were never supposed to be smarter. That's how I made it through. That's how I was going to win. I was going to outsmart all of them.

But as I lay on the forest floor, my throat burning, my stomach churning, I know that I have been beaten. I never suspected foul play, but he knew I was there. He knew I was following, he knew I would take them. And he left them there for me and I took them, never even sensing it had been a trap.

I find, as I lay there, that I cannot cry. Not for Rosemera, not for Nicolai, not for Garrett. Not even for myself. I feel shamed, humiliated, embarrassed, disappointed, grief. I hate that I'm leaving Rosemera and Nicolai behind. I hate that I never got to properly tell Garrett how I feel. I'm not sad that I'm going to die. I'm not even scared. I just feel shame.

Shame that I lost. Shame that I had lost by being outsmarted.

I try to tell Garrett I'm sorry. I try to tell him I'm sorry that I failed. More importantly, I'm sorry for breaking my promise. But nothing comes out. And then the sky and the trees above me swirl together in a mess of green and blue. Then they all fade away, leaving nothing but darkness.

* * *

><p>I've never written anything outside of <em>Harry Potter<em>. I've always liked _The Hunger Games_, but the movie has made me even more excited about it. Foxface was always one of my favorite tributes. I think I like her because if I ever got chosen for the Hunger Games, I'd probably use her strategy–avoid people, avoid conflict. Outsmart all of them. I love that we pretty much know _nothing_ about her past, so we can do anything we want with her. She's such a great character! Also, I kept italicizing _him_ and _he_ when I referred to Cato because that was supposed to be Foxface's nickname for Cato. In case that was unclear.

How'd I do for my first non-_Harry Potter _piece? I'd love to hear your thoughts! I'm thinking about writing more on Foxface. I'm thinking of writing a story, not necessary a complete story about Foxface's time in the Games. Rather than being one continuous story, it'll probably just be a bunch of random events. Her reaping, a chapter or two in training, her during the blood bath, her figuring out the mines. So not like, every second of her in the arena like Katniss in the actual book, but a bunch of little chapters.

Also thinking of doing something similar to what I described above for Cato/Clove because I may or may not ship Cato/Clove more than I do Peeta/Katniss! Woops!

This story is dedicated to bookluver52, Emullz, Ethera, HedwigBlack, MissSadieKane, toavoidconversation, and You Are Not Permitted To Touch for reviewing my last one-shot, _Things She'll Never Say._

Damn, this is one long author's note! Woops! Love you guys!


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